


Halflight

by Anonymous



Series: Snowy/Kent [6]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, D/s-verse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Praise Kink, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 16:03:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14793597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Kent showed up sometimes, after a rough game or a loss and if they were on the road, to watch TV and fall asleep in Scraps's bed. Which would be fine, because it made Scraps feel better too, except that lately, increasingly, it also meant some Ace getting sloppy and Kent not being where he was supposed to be.





	Halflight

**Author's Note:**

> Set before Snowy's discovery of what's been going on with Kent and the Aces.

Kent showed up while Scraps was busy flipping through TV channels, on his belly with his feet toward the head of the bed, trying to find something he wanted to watch, but that also wouldn't need a lot of attention or keep him up. He'd given Kent a second keycard, the way he always did, even if Kent sometimes used it and sometimes didn't. Scraps wasn't sure if he stayed in his own room the nights he didn't make an appearance, or if he had similar arrangements all over the team. It wouldn't be that weird, considering.

"Hey, Parser," Scraps called, voice low because he already had the lights off. He hadn't had a roommate on roadies in years, but the habit stuck. In the light of the TV, he could see Kent kicking out of his shoes--sneakers and not hotel slippers--then hesitate. "Here for some crime solving?" That was usually a good bet for interesting but not exciting or tense, and predictable enough to follow while dozing through parts. Just something to listen to while he fell asleep. "There's a rom-com too, but I don't want to make you cry."

Kent snorted, and said, "Fuck you, that was one time," but it was low, and he was still standing by the door, wearing actual pajamas--sleep pants and a T-shirt--instead of just his boxers and whatever top he'd already had on.

"Come on," Scraps said, and scooted to make space. He didn't dom Kent a whole lot, but sometimes Kent wanted an invite anyway. To be told what to do, a little.

Kent waffled, glancing into the bathroom Scraps had left open, laundry and towels scattered everywhere, and probably his toothpaste uncapped, then looked over at him again. There wasn't enough light to see his expression, or for Kent to see his, probably, but Scraps tried to look contrite anyway. "If you need to use the can, you can just walk on stuff. I won't mind."

That broke through whatever was up with Kent, and he finally came over, moving carefully like he thought Scraps might have left actual hazardous objects all over his floor. Scraps watched him pick his way over, then held the blankets up so Kent could climb in. "Hi," he said, once Kent was tucked in next to him, and the blankets draped over the both of them. "Crime or romance?"

Kent ignored the remote Scraps offered, squirming around making himself comfortable. "I locked the door."

There were only two keycards, so it didn't matter if Kent had set the chain, but Scraps shrugged anyway. "Okay." He dangled the remote in front of Kent's face. "So? Or do I get to pick?"

Kent settled in against his side, folding his arms to rest his head on them. "Anything but that robot movie you had last time."

"I finished that already. It was good." He tapped the remote gently against Kent's head. "Last chance, Parser." Kent ducked away, so Scraps took it as a 'no' and switched through a couple of channels, through some news show and then a cartoon, to something that looked like a daytime soap, even though it was late. "Your speed?"

Kent snorted, but didn't argue, which wasn't that much fun, so Scraps kept going until he hit something that looked like a lots-of-talking drama and left it so he could grab a pillow to tuck under his chin, turning his cheek into it to look sideways at Kent, who was only partly watching the screen, eyes a little hazy. He could be like that after a rough game, especially if they'd lost. A bit dopey and checked out.

"You wanna go down?" Scraps asked, shifting over a little more so he was pressed against Kent, not actually putting weight on top of him, but almost. Kent made a sleepy sound, a little too comfortable to be actual protest, even though it had that note in it.

"Did." It was part of a mostly unintelligible mumble.

"Already did? With who?"

"Scrappy." That _was_ a protest, whiny and everything. It made Scraps laugh, then throw an arm over Kent's shoulders, using body like a shield, because it made him feel good to do it, even though they weren't on the ice or anywhere else that Kent might need protecting.

"You don't have to tell me. It just doesn't look like they did a good job bringing you back up."

"S'fine."

"Don't play with the rooks, Parser. They're fucking idiots."

Kent laughed, low and into his arm. "Yeah." It was almost fond. Kent had a ridiculous soft spot for the newbies, but Scraps would bounce them off the ice, no problem, if they decided they didn't need to show Kent respect once they realized he was a sub, or if they thought they could say whatever they wanted about the team playing with him.

"Yeah, you agree, or yeah, that's what you did?"

"I didn't."

"Okay. Good boy."

Kent snorted, but it sounded happy. Pleased. Scraps sort of loved how easy Kent was, and how much he leaned into even light praise. Not at all like the pest he could be on the ice, or the cocky hotshot he could play off of it, like he was making up for not being on skates by inflating the attitude. 

Scraps took the opportunity to lean on him a little more. "You want me to do anything? Pull you up a bit?"

He got a negating sound in response. Maybe that wasn't how he should handle Kent. Maybe Kent needed him to make the decision instead of waffling and putting him in charge. That probably wasn't great for any sub who was already fuzzy and left half in subspace by some irresponsible jerk, but it also wasn't like he could have a real talk with Kent when he was only partly there. Scraps was going to have words with someone if he figured out who Kent had played with, and maybe generally and with the team at large if he didn't.

"Alright. You wanna just sleep it off, huh?"

"Mm."

Scraps smiled and shifted the remote to his other hand so he could ruffle Kent's hair. "You're like a damn kid, Parser."

Kent sighed. He was warm under Scraps's arm, and relaxed. Scraps could probably have moved him however he wanted and gotten only grumpy sounds in protest, if that.

"Feeling good, huh?" He tightened his hand in Kent's hair, bobbling his head playfully, and Kent made a comfortable noise, enjoying the bit of roughness, then relaxing even more when Scraps let go to pat him again, soothing where he'd pulled with the palm of his hand. Kent didn't answer, except to huff out a breath. His eyelids had drooped so much Scraps was sure he was missing the whole TV show, and maybe wasn't that aware of Scraps anymore either, now that he was somewhere it was safe to let go instead of--whatever he'd been doing while he apparently played musical rooms. Scraps didn't like that Kent did that, but it wasn't like he was going to get into real trouble on a floor full of his own teammates.

That, and Scraps liked when he showed up. It was easier to fall asleep on roadies when he had Kent tucked against his side, and easier to feel better about bad games and losses if he could focus on looking after a sub instead of lying in the dark thinking about the plays that hadn't gone right and the mistakes he'd made running them.

Scraps pressed his face back into the pillow, idly petting Kent while he half dozed and half listened to the TV. He couldn't follow the case anymore, but he didn't really need to. If the stayed awake to the end, there'd be a recap before the bust. All he really needed was the rise and fall of voices and a vague topic to string them together on, to fill the quiet of the hotel room in a way that even Kent's steady breathing and occasional snort or snuffle couldn't.

He was snoozing to the credits with one arm flopped over Kent when thumping at the door startled him back to awareness. "Mhuh?" he managed, and rolled onto his back, shoving his pillow off the end of the bed as he did. "P'rser?"

It wasn't Kent. It was some jerk at the door. It better not be Carly wanting to go out all of a sudden, at ass o'clock. Carly needed to get some fucking impulse control.

Scraps rubbed his hands over his face and considered ignoring the noise, but Kent was still asleep and didn't need to be startled out of it, especially after being down. 

The banging paused, then picked up again, and Scraps swore under his breath and lifted the blanket so it wouldn't come with him when he got up, leaving it draped over Kent as he swung his feet to the carpet and stalked to the door. He didn't undo the chain, so the door jerked to a hard stop when he yanked it open, brought to a halt at maybe four inches. "Shut up," he grouched, at whoever was on the other side. He had to squint against the light from the hall.

It was Bakker, looking faintly worried, and sheepish enough to open with, "Hey, Scrappy," instead of launching straight into requests. 

Scraps worked his mouth and swallowed, face still scrunched in discomfort. "What d'you want?" 

"We might have kinda--Is Parser with you?"

That woke Scraps up a little more. "Who the fuck is 'we'? You're a fucking A, and you had someone with you, and you still can't keep your eye on a sub?"

"Come on, man. It's late. You seen Parser or not?"

He looked tired. Maybe had Scraps had slept through more than just the one episode. "How long did it take you to realize he was gone?"

Bakker made a frustrated noise and shoved hair out of his face. "He wasn't supposed to be gone. He was supposed to stay in his room. You know that little shit never listens."

That was only sort of true. Kent liked to push, but he was pretty good at listening once he knew he had a dom's attention. "Lay off him. You shouldn't have left."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I didn't mean to. Look, Scrappy, man, have you seen him or not? Because I've banged on like six doors, and if he's not with you, then I've got a bunch more to go."

Scraps leaned against the wall, but didn't undo the chain, letting Bakker torture himself trying to peer in around him and through the gap. Let him worry for a minute or two longer, before he admitted, "Yeah, he's here. He's been here for a while, Bakker, what the _fuck_ , man?"

"I _know_ ," Bakker snapped, but he sounded relieved. "I know. I fell asleep. I thought he'd gone back to his room, but then the fucker wasn't there."

"He was still down. You didn't even--"

"I thought he was asleep. You think I'd really leave him by himself if I'd realized and had any idea he'd decide to go for a walk?"

"Fine," Scraps sighed. "But it's not the first time, and everyone needs to be more careful. You know Parser's the one who's going to get trouble if someone figures out he's a sub."

"Yeah." Bakker shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Sorry, man. I know. I just--I fucking shouldn't have played at all after that game, huh?" He offered an apologetic grin, head ducked a little. With the height Scraps had on him, it made Bakker have to look up from under his lashes a little. He was a charming fuck, that was for sure. "Parser was kind of wound up, though. He had me thinking it would be okay." He shoved a hand through his hair again, jamming back the bit that had fallen into his face again. "I mean--that's not--I'm the dom and I should have said no. I fucked up, okay? It's good that he's with you. I was--like, imagining him doing something dumb, I don't know what."

Scraps's eyes had adjusted to the brightness from the hall, which meant walking back through his room was going to be mostly stumbling in the dark and hoping he didn't bang a shin or stub a toe. "Go to bed, Bakker."

"Can I see him?" Bakker grinned, looking a little embarrassed to be asking. "Proof of life," he joked.

"Fine." 

Scraps closed the door, undid the chain, then opened it again, all the way, and stepped to the side so Bakker could get a good look at the Parser-shaped lump under the blankets, then pulled the door mostly closed again before the light could wake Kent up. "Okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks. I just--I was worried."

"Don't play when you're that tired, Bakker.

"Yeah."

"Go get some sleep, huh?"

"Yeah." Bakker hesitated for a second longer, then awkwardly bumped Scraps in the shoulder with his fist, through the gap of the door. "You're the best, Scrappy. A fucking lifesaver."

"I didn't do anything. He came here on his own."

Bakker smiled a little, then scratched at the back of his neck and said. "Okay. Hitting the sack. If Parser wakes up before someone throws us all out of bed and onto a plane, tell him I suck and I hate myself, alright?"

"You do and you should," Scraps grouched, but he smiled back because Bakker was the sort of guy that people reacted to that way. "And tell whoever you were playing with that he's a shit too," Scraps added and pulled the door shut before Bakker could say or do anything else that might make him less mad. When he'd finished getting a drink of water and returned to the bed, Kent was awake, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

"Bakker thought he'd lost you," Scraps explained, retrieving his pillow from where it had fallen. "And he knows he's an idiot and he's sorry. Go back to sleep."

Kent pushed himself up to an elbow instead, looking back towards the hall like he was checking to see if Bakker had followed Scraps in, or was making sure Scraps had remembered to close the door after himself. Scraps ignored it and climbed back in bed, still the wrong way around, feet to the headboard, even though he wasn't interested in whatever had come on the TV while he'd been talking to Bakker.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," Scraps said, shifting around, trying to get as comfortable as he'd been before being dragged out of bed. Kent wasn't as pliant anymore, or as touch-hungry, and that made things a bit less cozy. The tension in his back and shoulders was definitely less nice, and it didn't ease up under Scraps's hand either. "Come on, Parser."

Kent let himself be pulled back down, but he stayed wary, curling into himself a little, instead of sprawling carelessly or wrapping himself around Scraps the way he sometimes did in his sleep.

"It's fine," Scraps told him, "No one knows." That Kent had been temporarily misplaced, which might have led to questions of how and why, and from there to discovery. "Just some of the guys." The remote was lost somewhere in the bed, and Scraps knocked his pillow off again looking for it, then had to resettle himself before he offered Kent, "Requests?" even as he turned the sound down until it was just unintelligible noise.

Kent didn't answer. Scraps didn't really expect him to, when he was sleepy and maybe only partway back from whatever state he'd been in when he'd shown up. He looked more focused that he'd been, a little more alert, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Kent had played at least large chunks of a game with one foot in subspace, because--according to Kent, when Scraps questioned him later--he'd been promised a blowjob for it, and he'd played it like he was on fire, even though the recklessness pissed Scraps off. It hadn't been a key game, but there was more at risk than losing, and everyone on the fucking team, but especially Kent, should have been aware of that, and smart enough to be more careful.

Things were getting sloppy and dangerous. Scraps didn't like the lack of consistent rules, the too-casual, up in the air way things were being handled. Three out of five times, Kent would wind up in Scraps's room if he wanted extra company or someone messed up, but that still left a big window for him to end up who-knew-where, with possibly no one knowing anything was up, because no one knew what was _supposed_ to be happening, or who Kent was supposed to be with.

Scraps sighed, hugging the pillow to his chest, and felt Kent roll away at the sound, turning his back. Not touching Scraps at all anymore. That was one thing about Kent--he was pretty good at reading a mood, and then sometimes at overreacting to it.

"Don't be like that," Scraps grumbled, pulling him back and turning onto his side so he could more efficiently drag Kent over and tuck him into the curve of his body. "Bakker can tell you what a good boy you are tomorrow."

Kent snorted, but relaxed when Scraps didn't let him go. His head was a warm weight on Scraps's arm, the flyaway strands of his hair ticklish. Scraps always wanted to smooth out his cowlick, try to comb it into submission, but it never worked.

"Or I can?" Scraps offered, tugging Kent over some more so his head would be on the pillow too. "If you want? If you think that'd hold you till morning."

This time Kent laughed, quiet and sleepy, and burrowed into Scraps's chest before saying, "Okay," in a low, shy tone. A sucker for praise and totally aware of it. Scraps was teasing, but also not really joking, and it was sweet and fun that Kent knew it enough to make a play for it.

"Good job finding me," Scraps told him, pressing his cheek to Kent's hair and shifting so a little of his weight was on Kent again, like before. "When those idiots didn't come back. That was smart thinking."

"I know where you are," Kent pointed out. "And Bakker told me to stay."

"Shh. No arguing."

Kent froze for a second, then relaxed again and nodded. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Bakker was the idiot, but that was also a topic better saved for the morning, when Kent had coffee and breakfast to make him more amenable to criticism. Swoops had been a lot better at giving Kent a piece of his mind without making him go weird, and Scraps missed him for that. "You're being so good for me right now. You're gonna go to sleep, right?" 

"Mm." He was going back to muzzy fast. Not really up at all, then, just like Scraps has guessed. 

"You played a good game tonight, and then I bet you were real good for the guys, huh?"

Kent squirmed a little, but remembered the _no arguing,_ rule enough that he gave in with a reluctant, "Yeah."

Maneuvering Kent into praising himself was its own kind of victory, and his grudging compliance made Scraps smile. "See? Look at you listening to me, Parser. That's fucking nice."

Kent murmured something into his chest sounded mostly like _uh-huh_. Scraps couldn't really hear it, but he offered a, "Good boy," anyway, rubbing his fingers lightly against the back of Kent's head, then repeated it just to keep talking, to have something to say. He didn't think Kent was listening that closely anyway.

The TV had gone to infomercials, some couple in coordinated outfits trying to pitch a juicer, their cheerful voices a near inaudible murmur. Kent mumbled back at it as he fell asleep, confusing it for a dream, or for Scraps talking to him, and then he sighed and was out, close and warm and with their legs tangled together. In the morning, he'd be back to himself, cocky and stubborn again, but for the time being it was easy to settle Kent more comfortably against him before he killed the TV, dropping the room into darkness, and closed his eyes.


End file.
